


No Sleeping for the Saints Down Below

by BlooBlu



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Alcohol Mentions, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Family Issues, Fatal familial insomnia, Fluff and Angst, Hospitals, How Do I Tag, Implied/Referenced Sex, Injury, Insomnia, Medication, No Smut, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Self-hate/Self-esteem issues, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-11-22 18:31:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 7,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20878769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlooBlu/pseuds/BlooBlu
Summary: Remy was a pretty normal dude, really. A solid 11/10 babe with a caffeine addiction and a roomate to share his tiny apartment's rent with. He has a nice mom, pretty good friends, and a shitty-but-pays-the-rent job.And now, he can't sleep. Not in that edgy, "sleep is for the weak!" way, but literally. He. Can't. Sleep.((There's probably more tags that I forgot, if you see anything you think should be in there let me know in the comments            Feel free to kick my ass for continuity issues or if it feels too OOC.))





	1. Chapter 1

Tired. 

He was so...

Tired. 

He doesn't know exactly when it began. Which night was the last night he'd slept. All he knew was that is was more than a week ago but less than two. (Probably).  
Sure, Remy wasn't known for having the *best* sleeping habits. Or even decent ones, really. It was just a part of his life, he was an insomniac who drank too much coffee and who's eyebags had to be hidden under layers of makeup or his shades to stop people from staring. Stop them from asking 'hey are you alright? You look tired' or 'did you sleep okay last night?'  
He didn't. He never had, really. As a child he had slept less than what was normal - they called him hyperactive. It continued into his tween years and then early teens - they said 'it's all that damn technology and crap you eat.' It never stopped. He was a young adult, bordering on not-so-young-anymore. His doctor called it insomnia. (He tried not to think about how no matter what he tried, new diets and exercise regimens, going to bed earlier, going to bed calmer, drinking less coffee, drinking more water, none of it put him to bed any quicker.)

So Remy wasn't that worried when he had marked 3 days without sleep. Then 5. Sure, he became more irritable. His job just down the street now seemed a mile away every morning. Calling out seemed like the best idea but he really couldn't afford to. Even the *idea* of going to another party or firework show or whatever popped up on his feed, was migraine-inducing.  
His friends were worried, of course. His roommate, (a fellow night owl and follower of the cult of Starbucks, Virgil) started sleeping over at a friend's place. Neither of them said anything about it, but Remy knew it was because without anything else to do, he'd just started... doing stuff around the apartment all night. Dishes, laundry, whatever video games he could find in the closet. It's kinda hard to sleep when someone is walking around on creaky floorboards all night.  
But now... now Remy was getting a little worried. He was feeling- how did that kid in his Spanish class say it, the one in 11th grade?- "bittery, jittery, and *not very glittery*" He'd read articles online, about how the human mind would go insane after missing sleep for 72 hours or more. Ha. Maybe that's what it was. He'd screwed up his own internal clock so bad that he was just going insane.   
Remy had run into so many walls and short furniture in the past week he was sure that his shins and hips would never not be purple greenish again. (He had straight up *collapsed* in the mall a few days ago. It was like his legs had just given up right then and there.) Words and numbers would dance across his vision, to where he just had his phone read any texts aloud to him and he'd started just watching TV instead of trying to read or post about anything. His following on Tumblr must be disappointed.  
So, Remy has decided it was time to see a doctor. At least, he thought he should. It was hard to make appointments when he couldn't read any of the forms they gave him, online or in paper. So he chose to do it the way everyone used to make appointments, without actually doing anything.

"Moooooooooooommmmmmm!! Mommy- Mother, great birth giver of the Mom variety, I'm sick and I need professional care like, right now right now."   
A voice, soft and warm, chuckled lightly on the other side of the phone.   
"Remy, while I appreciate that you took the time to call me about it, we've talked about this. You're a grown man who can make his own decisions *and* appointments, social interaction or not."   
"That's like, the *thing* though mama, *I can't*. I literally cannot even fill out the forms - can insomnia like, give you dyslexia?"   
A pause. "Remy, are you alright? What are you talking about dyslexia- do you think you have a fever? All those night shifts and coffee are going to run you into an early grave, I swear-"   
"I know I know, more water, less sugar, do my laundry, yadda yadda, can you, *pretty pretty please*, make an appointment for this week for me please? I promise when I think I can drive you again I'll come visit with like, all the cookies and hugs you could imagine- more than that, probably-"   
And so that's how it went. Remy's mom agreed to set a checkup date for him at the clinic a few miles away, and she would drive down the evening before in order to take him there next morning. The night before they ordered delivery to eat in and watch a movie, and Remy set up the futon for her to sleep in. (They argued over that for a good while, but Ms. Bean would not budge on the grounds that "he was already sick, and should be resting in a decent bed.")  
Remy didn't sleep that night either. Not like he was expecting much else, though. So with a few home-brewed 'special coffees' (aka, coffee spiked with 5 hour energy) and a nice shower, they were on their way at 9, the appointment scheduled for 9:30.  
The clinic really wasn't any different than you'd expect. Medium sized front desk area/combined waiting area, a few closed doors, with an open hallway in the far left corner. They were a little early, so there wasn't much to do but fill out the forms given and wait. Remy's mom sat and asked him the questions quietly, transcribing for him. He would have preferred skip a few of the questions, but Remy also really wanted to get to the bottom of this - and if it could somehow be related to how many "partners" he'd had in the last month (however much he doubted it,) he could stand a few embarrassing minutes of muted conversation.  
Finally -   
"Remy Bean?"  
It was go time. God, he hoped that they could just like, poke him with a stick a few times, give him some kind of heal-all prescription, and They could stop for coffee on the way home.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remy tries to get some answers

It was not that easy, apparently. After sitting in a small room for about 10 minutes, talking to a nurse for 15 and doing the regular eye/ear/nose/weight checks, and being left in the same tiny room again for 27 minutes (yes he checked with his phone) a doctor finally came to see Remy.  
They asked about all the same questions the nurse had asked about his eating and sleeping habits, did he drink enough water, did he go out very often, you get the idea.   
At first Dr. Klein sounded fairly laid back, if a little too cheery for before noon - but slowly, they seemed to just grow more and more confused, and just a tiny bit exasperated. Remy could tell from the tone of voice that they thought he may be fibbing, trying not to sound embarrassing or unhealthy. They certainly weren't very happy when he said he couldn't remember when he'd last slept at all.   
In the end, Dr. Klein asked to do some blood tests, and if Remy would be willing to let them conduct an MRI on him. After a quick check to make sure his insurance would cover (at least most of it) and asking several times if this was *really* necessary, he agreed. The blood was quick and easy, but he made sure to text his mom before to say that it might be a while and what was happening.   
He needed help getting the actual appointment, but they'd agreed that since it might take a while, Remy's mom would go help him catch up on all the grocery shopping he'd missed lately and she'd swing by to pick him up after.  
In the end, Remy left the clinic without any real answers, and a promise from Dr. Klein that they would call as soon as the results were in. (The look the doctor had given him had been... less than reassuring. But it was all just in his head, right?  
Remy still felt a little out of sorts - his eyes were all dry and sandy feeling, his legs wobbly and weak, and his once mild headache was now edging towards migraine territory. He wondered how awful it would be to just get blackout drunk and hope he collapsed for long enough to feel right again.

The drive home was fairly quiet, with the radio on low. They were both concerned, obviously, but there was nothing to do until the test results came back.  
So they waited. Remy had insisted his mom could go back home and he could call a friend for a ride if it was anything serious come the end of the week. Ms. Bean was reluctant, and said she could stay for as long as it was necessary, and in the end they agreed that she would go back home, and if it turned out Remy was secretly dying or something, she would drive back down immediately.   
So Remy was alone again, basically. Virgil still came by during the day to get some of his things or wash his clothes but that was about it. Remy told him about his visit to the clinic, but things still felt a little awkward. He wanted to say something like 'sorry I keep driving you out of your own living space with my Insomnia' or 'how's Patton and Logan doing, haven't seen them In a while.' But he just... didn't.   
He was so tired all the time. Even after his worst caffeine/sugar crashes had never left Remy feeling so plain *exhausted*. No matter how he tossed and turned, nothing worked. He'd tried sleeping in different places,too. The futon, the bathtub, Virgil's bed (sorry man), even the floor looked like the best place in the world for a nap right now. But all he could do was close his eyes and lay (semi)still for hours on end. Looking for all who might see like a fussing toddler, squirming left and right and speaking rather violently at God and all of his creations.

Four days after his visit to the clinic came a small blessing. A call from Dr. Kelin themself. And not like Remy was going to like, complain or anything, but the way that the doctor had asked him to come back to the clinic as soon as was possible did not sound good. Of course, his mom was there in record time and managed to get him there that same afternoon.

They didn't have to wait at all, apparently. As soon as they said that they had to speak with Dr. Klein, the receptionist just said that they were waiting in room 17, just down the hall and to the right, dears. 

Dr. Klein was, for all they looked, fairly cool and collected. But there was something behind their eyes that just didn't quite match the patient way they asked Remy and his mother to sit with them for a minute.   
The blood tests had come back, and they were just fine, if with a little more caffeine running through them that Klein would have liked. Remy's reaction speed, vision and weight left a little to be desired, but that could be expected from several days of sleep deprivation.   
They asked if Remy had slept at all since their last meeting, even if just an hour or so, anything at all. The way the continued to ask, over and over - even just a few minutes? Are your really positively sure?

Remy responded similarly each time.

He was feeling a little frustrated, but this whole thing was about fixing his sleeping schedule, after all. It was probably best to be thorough, right? No matter how annoying... 

In the end, Dr. Klein just sighed, and said that they would have to contact Remy again in the future. Had to speak with some of those "big city doctors" in the next town over. Apparently whatever was wrong with him had never been seen by Dr Kelin, or even in this clinic. They said that they didn't want to make any assumptions, and that Remy shouldn't either. 

"Hopefully I'll find out what's what within the next month or so. I'll be honest, Mr. Bean, your MRI didn't look very promising, and there were a few things I'd like to show and go over with you before you leave, but I don't have any definitive answers right now. I'll let you know as soon as I can, but in the meantime I want you to go and get -" a pause, and they wrote something on a sheet of paper, "these prescriptions at the pharmacy, and see if they help in any way. I cannot stress how important it is that you get even the smallest amount of rest, and soon." 

And that was that. Apparently some of the signals in his brain weren't firing quite right, and the medication was supposed to fix that. But, even if this solved everything and he never needed so much as another cough drop in his life, Dr. Klein wanted to research the problem incase it ever happened again to one of their patients. 

Ms. Bean drive them back to Remy's place after picking up two orange pill bottles at the grocery store's pharmacy. With a hug goodbye and a promise to call and check in whenever she could - Remy was left alone in his apartment, watching his mom drive away. 

Maybe he'd go lay down for a little while. Just to see if he could sleep this time.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are looking up, a bit! Not really, though

Remy wouldn't say that he was *disappointed* per se. Ir even all that surprised when he found sleep just as allusive the next two weeks as it had been before the meds. He was just tired, and frankly, bored.   
There hadn't been any further calls from Dr. Klein, though he had gotten plenty from his mom, and now half of his extended family were trying to reach out to him through social media. Ha. Right. No one wants to talk to the aro/ace nephew and his... less than respected mother, until you find out that one of them is sick and probably going to die or like, lose an arm. Then comes all those "Hey, I heard you went to 3 different hospitals in the last month, you okay?" And "Hi man just checking in your mom's fb update looked kinda serious."  
Remy ignored most of them. His uncle did seem genuinely worried, and his great aunt probably meant well… he answered his mom, obviously. But that was about it, really. He'd gotten rather used to the text-to-speech function on his phone, and started listening to audiobooks when his eyes got too bad. A few too many stumbles and rendered all sharp corners baby proofed, with some help from Virgil. Remy had swallowed his pride with some very hot coffee, and explained the situation to him. How no doctor he saw knew what was going on, no second opinion explained anything, but he was trying to get better.  
Virgil took it all pretty well, and was very accepting if a bit weirded out. When Remy agreed to take his more noisy distractions outside at night, he even agreed to start sleeping back at home again. It was nice, having his roomie back. When Virgil couldn't sleep either they'd stay up to watch Disney movies or buzzfeed unsolved until Virgil fell asleep on the futon or said he was ready for bed.   
Even though the medication didn't help Remy sleep at all, he did feel vaguely more relaxed and his trying-to-lay-still-and-not-think, turned into lay-down-and-be-chill. Hours turned into days and days turned into weeks, until finally it had been almost 2 months since his first clinic visit with Dr. Klein. He and his mother had both called several times asking for updates, but each time they said than they had nothing, no more of an idea than any other doctor or nurse or surgeon they had contacted. 

"You and Ms. Bean will be the first to know when they found anything, I promise. Yes, you should keep taking those medications for at least until you run out. Yes, I am doing everything in my power to help you, but calling me over and over isn't going to get us answers, Ms. Bean."

Not like any of their words were very convincing, but Remy was willing to give them a C for effort. Then again, he was finding it hard to be hopeful about his situation at all. Would he ever sleep again? Would they have to put him under like, medically induced comas? Oh god would he end up having to live the rest of his life in a hospital without coffee or his friends- 

Okay, okay slow down Remy. You're the chill one, remember? It's fine. Sleep is for the weak and you will not be weak!   
Sleep is also really nice though- it hadn't happened in a long time but he missed the few times he'd gone to sleep and stated that way for the whole night. Those times after a really long day, when he could just collapse into bed and open his eyes to a refreshed mind and comfy blankets…  
Okay. Maybe he wanted to be a tiny bit weak. Not like that ever hurt anybody.

Remy spent most of his days like this. Over thinking and then trying not to think at all. He'd started taking more night shifts at work lately - his manager, Dee, was more than happy to pass them off to him. It gave Remy time to think, since there weren't half as many customers at 2 am as there were in the mornings and afternoon. The only reason more people didn't like the night shift at the shitty knock off coffee shop wasn't because of the hours, but because it was just a sketchy place at night. He was fairly certain he'd heard at least 4 drug deals in the bathroom or behind the shop by the garbage. Dee claimed that he'd fended off a potential robber once, in the middle of the night shift. Remy wasn't entirely sure if the guy was lying or not, compulsive lying disorder or no.  
At one point he had just started playing his spotify playlists at half volume on his phone instead of using the quiet speakers that normally played whatever pop or indie was on the radio. It was good to be alert and all, considering his job, but no one could really blame him if he wanted to dance a little to Girls Just Wanna Have Fun when no one was even in the shop, right?   
Of course, this meant that sometimes he got back home and Virgil was still dead asleep - a tired Virgil did *not* like 6am wake up calls. Sometimes Remy just waited a few hours in the sandwich shop next door or at the park until he thought it was an acceptable time to wake his roommate up with the rusty ass hinge on the door in and out of the apartment. But then Virgil would wake up on his own because he was hungry or something, notice Remy was way late getting home, and freak out, calling and texting him over and over until he'd respond.

Speaking of calls - 

"Hello - Remy? It's Dr Klein.. I have… well not really good news. But news, nonetheless, about your condition. We aren't entirely sure about our hypothesis yet, though, and this is something that we need to be… absolutely certain if before making any calls." 

"Well you're callin' me right now doc, so I don't know what to tell you but-" 

"Remy, please. This is serious. I would like you to come down to the clinic at your earliest convenience. My colleagues and I would like to conduct some genetic testing, and for that we need, well, genetic material to sample. Let's say Tuesday at noon- does that work for you?"

"I guess it'll have to - yeah, I can be there. Look forward to seeing you, doc." 

"I as well Remy. Stay safe." 

...Stay safe? What was that supposed to mean? How much danger could he possibly be in?   
All of this was shaping up to be way more that Remy had signed up for. Like, period. Life felt out some sour-ass lemons sometimes, but this felt like a raw grapefruit being shoved right under his nose. 

Remy sighed. He could handle this. He *could*. Just… Positive Mental Attitude, right? Time to get some answers for once.

"Hey mom- I just heard from Dr Klein -"


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some fluff before the storm cause I'm feeling nice today

The weekend continued without any more trouble, and less than an hour after he talked with Dr. Klein, Tuesday seemed like less of a far away appointment and more like a beast stomping on the horizon. He knew that this was definitely more serious than all the other visits he'd gone to so far, but he'd decided to play it down to his mom for her sake - he felt bad enough about asking for her help this much already.   
So he didn't talk about how serious Dr. Klein had sounded in the phone, or about how he was almost 100% now that he'd developed some kind of brain tumor. She agreed to only come to visit again if the results were "concerning." He made a joke about knowing his DNA was concerning without even looking at it. They laughed, they silently worried on both ends of the phone, and they both hung up with tight sounding I-love-you's.

The weekend ended without any further incident. Virgil went to sleep over at his “friend” Patton’s place that Sunday and said that Remy could come with. (Y’know, only if you want to, didn’t wanna make it feel weird or anything but he’s got a lot of Disney movies and he likes to make a lot of sweets and I just thought-)  
Remy had agreed to come with but said that he probably wouldn’t stay the night. He wanted to be home before it got too dark because even though he didn’t sleep, he liked to lay down and chill out in his own bed for a few hours when he wasn’t working. After Dr. Klein had called Remy made sure he wouldn’t have to work at least on Monday and Tuesday, and Dee had given him the Sunday afternoon shift instead of midnight through 6 am.   
(“Call it my charitable deed for the month, Rem. You look awful under those tacky sunglasses, go rest and come back Wednesday day ready to kick ass.”  
He gave Remy a sideways glance - one would look rude or condescending if they didn’t know Dee, but Remy could tell that the guy was just worried. They were kind of friends, almost, and Dee didn’t have many of even those.   
“Tacky? Who the hell do you think you’re callin’ *Tacky*, snake man?”   
It was always fun to poke fun at Dee’s… less than amazing choice in tattoos. He’d apparently had a lot of money and was too stupid to know what 'permanent' meant as a uni student, and had on a whim decided to tattoo half his goddamn his face. A snakeskin pattern, none the less. Then he’d gone and done it to his arm on the same side to “make it even” and now just looked like a serial killer every hour of the day.  
"Yeah yeah just get out of here and be prepared to clean some toilets when you get back.")

So here he was, sitting on basically a stranger's couch in a (borrowed) owl onesie, eating more chocolate chip cookies than he'd ever had in his life, and absolutely *loving it.*   
The Lion King was good for the soul, as Pat had so described it. Remy wholeheartedly agreed, and honestly didn't believe he could ever see Disney the same way again. (Yes, he cried when Mufasa died, sue him - being dramatic is like, his thing ok?)

So that was how his Sunday went, basically. Sibbing over Disney movies with his roomie and now sort of best friend, eating leftover pasta and enough cookies that Remy was fairly sure he'd gained 10 pounds in one sitting. Not like that was a bad thing, really - Dr. Klein had said that he was underweight. Nuthin’ wrong with being a curvy Starbucks babe, anyway.  
Even though Remy had had lots of fun and basically never wanted to leave this house ever now when it started nearing 7 pm he knew it was time to go. Home wasn’t very far away, in fact he and Virgil and walked to Patton’s house, but Remy didn’t feel right walking home by himself after the sunset. (Not that that had never stopped him before, but he still didn’t like it, and he was more vulnerable now than ever with whatever the fuck was wrong with him...)  
So, with 3 plastic containers of food, (“you look so skinny! Here, I don’t know what your favorite is so here’s a little of everything!”) a bone-crushing hug from Pat and a (totally not cute at all I AM THE NIGHT FEAR ME) smile from Virgil, Remy was on his way home.   
The sun was low in the sky but he made it home in time for some decent TV. So Sunday night saw him drinking iced coffee with oreo flavored creamer. Ah, the wonders of technology- to be able to perfectly capture the flavor of this world's greatest cookie and combining it with Starbucks coffee grounds.  
It was only once all the TV had turned crappy and the world outside had become near-silent, save for the occasional car driving, that Remy's anxiety really set in. The day after tomorrow he would go in for the genetic testing that Dr. Klein had asked to perform, and not long after that he would either have the answers he was looking for or he wouldn't. He wasn't sure which was a more terrifying prospect, honestly.  
There were several things that could happen- the results could come back and say he was just fine - this was all some, crazy shutdown of his inner systems due to stress, or like, some kind of weird stroke. They could come back and say that he was going to die and that might not even be the worst turn out. They could come back blank. It could say that whatever Remy had was some weird alien anomaly that had never ever happened on Earth before and he could become some kind of lab rat for medical science-   
Remy really didn't want to die. But he also didn't want to spend the rest of his life in between hospitals and laboratories looking for a cure for his stupid fucking brain-   
Mostly he just… he didn't want to be alone. Remy wanted to see his mom every weekend and annoy the hell out of her by leaving his socks on the floor and wearing graphic T-shirts. He wanted more movie nights with Patton and Virgil, to meet this mysterious Logan they kept talking about and the even more mysterious Roman that he only knew about because he had seen the name circled on the Nightmare Before Christmas calendar in Virgil’s room.  
So what if he lived the rest of his life restless and looking like a raccoon straight out of the dumpster - he could handle it as long as he got to live for it. He could take whatever medications or surgeries or whatever else he needed to stay by his friends and family. 

Remy could do it. He knew that he could. 

Tuesday came on an unusually warm morning, with predictions of rain later that night.

It was time. He breathed in. He breathed out. And Remy walked back into the Hood River medical clinic for what felt like the very first time again.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This next chapter is going to be in two parts, if you want to end the story before the bad news comes, or just don't want to see Remy's reaction, you probably shouldn't read past the 1st part here.

Turns out that genetic testing was uh… a lot more invasive than Remy thought it would be. He’d never had a more uncomfortable morning in his life and he’d woken up hungover in some party horse’s trashed house, missing his shirt and terrified that something has happened while he was piss drunk. Not like he didn't trust his friends or whatever but some people were sick and you wouldn't ever know it unless you were too late.

Anyway, in the end it probably didn't take as long as he thought it had. What felt like hours was actually 20 or so minutes according to his phone. That was another problem he'd been dealing with recently- time distortions. Last week Remy had sat on the couch for what felt like 5 or 6 minutes, only to suddenly feel like he'd come out of a dream, with Virgil shaking him by the shoulders asking him what was wrong.  
He had been sitting on the couch for a few minutes and Virgil had seen him zoned out and decided to go out for lunch and come back, so he wouldn't be disturbed. Virge had come back to Remy sitting in the exact same position hours later - poor guy had been about to call an ambulance when Remy finally snapped out of it.

Whatever. Just another thing, right? He could deal. Just made things more… interesting. Like being in a time traveling movie. Yeah! He was now Remy Bean, infamous time traveler! (Because let's be honest, the things Remy would do with a time machine would not put him in good favor with the public … or the government.) He could sit down in any place, and suddenly be far in the future, or slow time down in order to catch bank robbers! (Did people still even rob banks now? Like, did they walk up there with ski masks and be all like "stick em up! This is a robbery!"? Remy hoped so.) 

So after that was all out of the way, Dr. Klein seemed pretty rushed to get the samples off to a commercial lab - apparently they would get the results back quicker that way, Remy wanted to know how much this kind of thing would cost. Dr. Klein said they were pretty confident that the doctors over there would be interested enough in Remy's condition to conduct the testing at a discounted price. (It wasn't an answer, and they both knew it, but it was the best shot they had really. The clinic didn't have the resources to get the results in any less than several weeks.)   
Remy found that he was beginning to become really sick of not being able to do anything. To help the doctors helping him get back to living normally, to stop his mother from worrying, to be a better roommate so that Virgil could feel more comfortable in his own home again. Things would get resolved eventually, sure, but was it too much to ask to just have one thing happen right now? Just one thing that he could do, right this minute, that would have immediate results. 

But, some things are worth waiting for, he supposed. Like that one senior srank back when Remy was still a junior. He had been privy to some early knowledge, being best friends with a few of the seniors responsible. God, the look on everyone's faces when the Pig Army came in…   
Yeah. Remy could wait a while, he was going to find some photos, and catch up with his old classmates. 

… 2 weeks later, Remy got a call saying that the results were back.

… 2 days after that, Remy was called in by Dr. Klein, who strongly suggested he bring someone who cares about him… "for support." 

Remy's mom was stuck at work, and wouldn't really be able to make any trips until next week, so he asked Virgil. (Who was, of course, a little freaked out by the way Dr. Klein had worded it, but Remy had no real assurance to offer because he was just as in the dark. Virgil agreed anyways, despite saying multiple times that he "isn't very good emotional support.")

So… they went. Mr. Klein was very insistent about how important this was. Which, of course it was, Remy knew that. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t have liked to… stop for sandwiches or something, on the way. Y’know - just a few minutes. Or an hour. 

But now they were here, Virgil gave him a little pat on the arm - far more comforting than something like that should be, in all honesty. Nonetheless, Remy found himself suddenly… emboldened, somehow. A deep breath, a few steps forward, the opening of a door, and he was going to face whatever this turned out to be with a smile. 

That’s all he could do, now.

If you don’t really like angst, it’s probably best to stop reading now. You’ll be left living in suspense, of course. Just barely toeing the edge of that cliff. But at least you won’t have to jump off with me and anyone else who chooses to continue. ‘


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know if you find any wierd errors in grammar / whatever, I was a little excited to get this chapter out today.

Remy might have imagined it, of course, but he could swear that life paused, as soon as he stepped into the clinic’s front room. For all he knew, the outside world could have fallen away into nothingness, leaving just him, Virgil, and the Hood River medical center. 

Floating, or maybe sinking, he strode forward.

“Hello, I um. I have an appointment - with Dr. Klein?” He’d told himself that he could do this. He’d grin and bear whatever the world threw at him and not even blink. Well, ‘you can believe what you want but that won’t make it the truth,’ afterall. 

“Yes, dear. I think you know where to go by now, but they’re down the hall. Room 17, on the right.” 

Did she know what was wrong with him? Something as weird as him would probably be knews all over a small work place like this, right? Remy didn’t think Dr. Klein would have said his name specifically, but if word got out about a patient who never sleeps, sure someone would be curious and look into it - did they pity him or something? Think he was- 

A hand in his. Somehow reassuring and shaking at the same time, nails painted black. Virgil gave him a look of understanding - (Remy was pretty sure he’d mentioned having anxiety, once, as that what this was? Was Remy panicking?) and gently pulled him down the hall.

Right. Remy could do this. Virgil was here, and they could take it together. If he couldn’t go down smiling, he’d at least not be falling alone.

Dr. Klein greeted them both with a smile, tired and strained. 

“Ah, Remy, you’re here - is this your… a friend?”

“Basically. Look, I don’t wanna draw this out cause I’m, like, already shaking. Just - like - Just.. do it like a bandaid. Quick and super duper painful.”

“...Alright. If that’s what you really want.”

Dr. Klein took a deep breath, and pulled out a few chairs. Remy and Klein sat. Virgil looked like he was about to, and then decided against it. He just stood next to Remy, a little awkwardly. 

“. . . Mr. Bean, you have developed a condition called ‘Fatal Familial Insomnia’ - let me continue - it is a rare, indeed near non-existent prion disease that causes well… those who suffer from it are completely unable to sleep. Not even the strongest anesthesias that is legally available (or illegally) are effective. Medically induced comas are impossible. I’m afraid that… there is no cure or effective treatment available, and I have severe doubt that one will exist even in my lifetime.”

“Oh. That- uhm. Am - am I going to..” Remy didn’t know how to say it. To voice the thought aloud, let alone *think* it. He felt Virgil’s hang on his shoulder, comforting and warm. 

“What are the symptoms? Is there anything I- that we can do to help?” Virgl asked. He’s sweet, like that. Remy knows he doesn’t think so, but Virgil really is a good person. A great friend. 

“Well, some things will happen right away - others may take time. To name a few, I suppose there is a deterioration of cognitive and mental function, more so due to the lack of sleep than the disease itself. One will begin to experience loss of coordination, or ataxia…”

Remy looked back at all the times he’d tripped and run into things, these past months. It made sense.

“Increased blood pressure and heart rate, at unexplainable times, along with trouble speaking and swallowing, increased weight loss.. I could go on, but I think it is best if we deal with these things more gradually. As time goes on and more symptoms begin to show, we can start to take more treatments into consideration.”  
All Remy could do was nod along. He couldn’t think over the one question repeating in his head, over and over and over - 

“How….” He coughed. Dammit, why did this have to be so… so hard? It didn’t sound good, so far, but- there was still a chance that is could be- “How long do I have? Am I... fuck… am I going to die?” 

Well of course he would. Everyone does, everyone is going to die someday, even him, but he just wanted to know if it would be *soon.* Please - he didn’t… he wasn’t a bad person, he’d only committed a few felonies in his life - he wasn’t even 30 yet! He- he couldn’t..

“I… am not completely sure, Remy, Not if I’m being honest with you. Some people have lived years after being diagnosed. Others… maybe only one year. There just isn’t enough data to really know. My best guess, based on when you say you started showing symptoms… anywhere from 8 - 12 months, at least. You could have years left, Remy. It’s probably best to think more about how you’re going to live, rather than when you’re going to die.”

Oh. That was- well at least i wasn’t - he wouldn’t… not right away - 

Ah fuck it. Remy was going to die, he was allowed to be sad! Or - or pissed, or whatever he was feeling! If he didn’t even have a year left, he was going to do whatever the hell he wanted to, thank you very fucking much! 

And right now, what he wanted was a chai tea and some peace and quiet. So he left. 

Remy stood, looking for all the world like a man who'd just been the victim of the dog-shit-in-a-burning-bag-on-your-porch prank. 

He didn't say goodbye, or look to see if anyone followed him or not. He was dying, but Remy had never felt more like the world was truly his, and only his.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note (This Is NOT A New Chapter)

So I've reached the point of the story where I have run out of pre written chapters that just needed some editing. The rest of the story is going to be a bit more "improv" I guess. I mostly just want to know what you guys would prefer- 

Longer chapters, that are further apart in terms of when I post them,   
Or chapters that are about, or less than 500 words, but would allow me to update every day.

No one will respond to this in all likelihood, but if it matters to you I'd like to hear what you have to say! :)


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A slightly shorter chapter cause' I feel bad for basically posting 6 chapters in 2 days and suddenly stopping because I have writer's block :/
> 
> (Little heavy on the alcoholism tag, here, sorry)

Turns out that Virgil had, in fact, followed him. Not that Remy particularly cared. The only conceivable things in the universe that mattered right now were his drink and the cold, shitty muffin in front of him.

Maybe if he told himself that enough times he'd start to believe it.

Neither of them said anything, as they sat in Johnson and Daughters’ coffee - Remy's place of work, actually. Though the guy that founded this place hadn't worked here in years, and none of his daughters really still worked there, (though Remy thought that one barista might be one of the granddaughters of ol’ Johnson.).  
It was kind of sad, but not enough to bother anyone. Everyone got old and at some point, the family business stopped being the dream job, ( if it ever was, to begin with.)

Remy just took another bite and tried not to think about the next shift he'd have to come in for. If he even kept working. Is "I'm dying and don't feel like literally working till I die" an acceptable excuse to get out of work? Maybe. Probably not. He didn't want to become homeless in the little time he had left though, so he might keep at it. Maybe he'd get employee of the month or something for his dedication. 

Hah. The employee of the month. It sounded so stupid now. Used’ to be something kinda silly but fun to look forward to. Remy had the feeling that a lot of things would start to feel different, now. Pointless. He’d never shied away from the “my life is as pointless as this broken pencil” kind of jokes, but now it just sounded hollow and kind of uncomfortable. 

Cause that was just it, wasn’t it? He’d most likely never see his 30th birthday. He’d always be the uni dropout, that kid who thought he could get away with partying all day and all night, and he could just become some kind of internet star. Make millions, discussing cryptids and constantly frustrate people by flirting with but never dating anyone, letting fans guess if he was really ace or just an off-screen pansexual. 

God, he was so stupid. Remy knew he had failed. At just… life in general. But at least he used to have hope. Used to think that maybe, if he just waited long enough, an opportunity would come along. Welp. Life’s a bitch who waits for no one, Remy supposed. Maybe this was the world’s way of saying “Hey, you have a deadline now. Get your ass in gear.”

“Babes, let’s go get a real drink. I don’t think this tea is workin’ for me.” 

Virgil looked left, then right, and said 

“Is… Is there anyone else here? ‘Sides you an’ me?”

“It’s an expression, babes, now you in or not?”

"...One drink. I really don't think you should be getting plastered right now, Rem."

Remy had agreed to Virgil's terms- the guys said one drink, so he'd have one drink.

He asked the bartender to skip the glass and just give him the bottle. Normally he wouldn't be willing to pay for that, he'd get something cheap from the store, but hey. Abnormal situation. 

Virgil didn't really have a lot to say about that. Just put his arm around Remy's shoulders in a way to gently pull Remy off of his seat out of their booth.

"C'mon. We should go."

If they watched / judged all of the Highschool Musical movies until dawn, no one but themselves really had to know that, did they?


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So - I think this will be the last chapter of this fic. I did have a lot of fun writing this, but I'm running out if steam and I don't wanna leave anyone hanging, so I'll end it a little ambiguously here.
> 
> I may return to make a second installment, or short 1 shots to fill in some blanks, but this is the end of the story, for now. I hope you all enjoyed, and thank you so much for reading.

So, one might think that hearing of your own impending death would be the worst possible experience of your life, right? Like, no bar, for most people. But Remy just couldn't stop thinking about how he'd have to tell his mom.  
He'd only gotten the news yesterday, but she was probably already worried sick. Obviously he hadn't called her yesterday, didn't even think about it until early this morning, actually. He had told her he would call right away about the results, and there were 12 unread messages from her yesterday - and 7 calls, though those were closer to when he'd gotten home.   
Remy had never felt so guilty in his life - but he also knew his mom would be devastated and he *really* didn't want to be the one to tell her. Dr. Kleim couldn't do it for him, wouldn't do it for him, most likely, and he would never even consider dumping something like this on Virgil. Imagine having to tell someone you've never met that their son is dying.  
He did pick up the phone and call, eventually. Virgil had asked what he was doing, staring at someone's contact for over an hour on his phone - but Remy hadn't had an answer for him. 

He was right, anyway. She was devastated. Remy felt like his soul had been on one of those online clips with a guy flying off his bike onto a fence post or something. He cried with her on the phone, and for a while after that. It wasn't much later that she was there, with him. They spent a few hours together in the living room, just sitting on the couch, Remy's mom running her hands through his hair and humming. (maybe it was a song, maybe she made it up along the way. He liked it either way.)  
When Virgil had passed though, she thanked him several times "for going with him, and staying even after they got the news-". He had blushed and basically been consumed by his hoodie, saying that that wasn't necessary, that's what friends are supposed to do, right-   
and Remy was struck by the sudden realization that they were. Friends. Maybe not best friends or anything, but they'd spent long enough together, hung out and enjoyed each other's company - and his mother's words replayed in his head. None of his other friends would have followed him, in all likelihood. Stayed up with him all night to distract him. Even the ones Remy had known for years, he probably couldn't even tell you the color of their eyes, or what drink was their favorite.  
Virgil's eyes were brown. A deep, dark brown that kinda felt scary if he was staring you down for the first time - but were actually very comforting once you knew the guy. Like weighted blankets. Heavy, but relaxing. And Remy knew exactly how Virgil took his coffee depending on his mood. Black with a shit ton of sugar, most of the time - but a dash of creamer with only a bit of sugar if he was feeling overly anxious or just wasn't very tired. 

Yeah, they were friends. And Remy was really fucking proud of that.

"Shit - you okay, dude?"

"Hon, did we say something?"

Remy blinked - what - 

Oh. He was crying. God, the one time he wasn't wearing his aviators inside - 

"Yeah, yeah - I'm fine. Just… little weirded out I guess. I don't think I've ever seen you not look like dumpster diving raccoon, babe. Glad you can lose the eyeshadow once in a while, looks like eyebags are, like, my thing now."

They all laughed, of course. It was kind of funny but they were all mostly just glad to have something they *could* laugh about. Virgil did actually have a bare face, for once. Whether he'd run out of makeup or just forgot to put it on today, Remy wasn't too sure. 

So - they laughed. They laughed until they cried and then they just sat together, the air silent but comforting. 

Remy might not be sleeping anytime soon - or ever, really - but in this moment he did feel, just a tiny bit, like he was dreaming.


End file.
